Records
by Aschenhimmel
Summary: Oneshots and pointless drabbles inspired by the game we all love. No continuity, just a collection of stories. -Tenth Record: Nifleheim isn't the best place for reunions-
1. First Record

Records

by Aizhen Aschenhimmel

As flat as a hamerfalled disclaimer could be: I own not RO.

A/N: I don't know. I felt that I've got to take these things outta my head, or else I'd get crazy soon (as if I'm not crazy yet). Basically they're one-shots/pointless ramblings inspired by the Pyramids in Morocc, most especially the Amon Ra map. Concrit will be very much appreciated (I could use much improvement). Let's get it on, people!

_First Record_

_Before the Record_

Jet paced around the catwalk with such regularity now that Devon could predict what he'd do next. After walking the entire length of it, he'd look at the two torches burning near the huge slabs of engraved stone. Then the priest would audibly sigh, tap the heel of his foot three times (sometimes four) and shift his weight from one foot to the other, looking around expectantly. After ten seconds he would stare at the row of armored skeletons standing at either side of the catwalk, glaring at them as though it was their fault, before repeating the whole cycle again.

It was beginning to wear on the knight's eyes. Especially when you've been watching it for the umpteenth time in...what? Fifteen minutes? Twenty, maybe thirty? It seemed like an eternity and an hour had passed. Their other companion, Cath, seemed to be more interested in admiring her katars than paying attention to anything else. The eerie silence was killing him.

He wished an ancient mummy would appear just to break the monotony, but it seemed that the heavens were conspiring against him. Not even an arclouse would inch close to them. He thought he must've been so bored that even the company of monsters seemed desirable.

"Jet," he groaned at length, a gauntleted hand unconsciously ruffling his bright red hair. The metal around his fingers clanged against his helm, echoing emptily inside the small gloomy chamber. "Stop that. You're making me dizzy."

The young priest's shoulders slumped. "Sorry Devs, but we've been waiting here forever and it looks like Amon Ra won't grace us with his almighty presence." He hesitated, looking at the knight first then at the assassin, before continuing on, "Are you sure this is the right time Amon Ra will appear?"

The knight shrugged. _The pains of being a first timer around here, _he thought dully. Well, at least he wasn't the only rookie guy in the area. "I dunno Jet. Cath said we should be here at this time, so here we are."

Both of them turned at the assassin, who had looked up from inspecting the extremely shiny blade of her weapon at the mention of her name. "Well?" She said, blinking innocently. "It's true. I'm always here at this time." Then she returned to her katars.

"But do you always wait for this long? I thought you had it timed." Jet inwardly rolled his eyes in frustration. He disliked wasting time doing nothing, even if it's just a few minutes.

Cath once again looked at them, her eyes telling them she was uncomprehending for a moment, before understanding dawned upon her pale features. And along with it came another expression.

She gave a nervous, sheepish chuckle. It sounded rather hollow in the lonely chamber. "Uh...yeah, I have it timed," she said, looking everywhere but their restless eyes. "But you see, I always come here _in advance_."

Devon stared at her. "In advance? You mean, too early?" _Don't tell me I'm going to skip a good drinking party to bust my ass waiting for hours to see some half-embalmed guy in a stone wheelchair. They will laugh at my face._

"Yeah. The first ones always have the advantage, you know."

"How early? How many minutes?" Jet asked uneasily. _Darn it, Kaye will skewer me like savage barbecue. She'd think I was fooling around, stood her up..._

Silence.

The assassin put on an apologetic face. "Actually, we're talking about hours here."

_Shit._


	2. Second Record

Records

by Aizhen Aschenhimmel

As flat as a hamerfalled disclaimer could be: I own not RO.

A/N: Whee, second story. Thanks to RicePaper for the encouraging review:) An in-game character inspired this one :)

_Second Record_

_Record Holder_

125 titles. And still counting.

There had been past celebrities in the area - several assassins, a couple of smiths, a knight for a brief period of time - but she could proudly claim that none had come near her record. No one. It was an astounding display of patience, skill and otherworldly tenacity.

You could say it was a habit. If you say it was an obsession, it was fine with her. She doesn't care. Maybe she was addicted with the pleasure derived from running her sharp katars through stone and decayed flesh. There was thrill in evading the blows delivered by those seemingly frail bandaged limbs that could send any warrior reeling in shock and pain. Of course, you can't forget the voluptuous delight in witnessing those awed faces - many times she resisted the urge to laugh at their disbelief.

The vicious thrill, the adrenaline rush, the glory in that room watched by eyeless skeletons beneath age-old armor...there were few things more delicious.

But she doesn't know, really. She doesn't know. She was just doing it. All she cared was that she was there whenever the monster appears...and claim the victory for herself.

125 titles.

_It's time._

The cross assassin stood up from her shadowy corner, just beyond the circle of orange light from the torches, and whipped out her beloved jurs. The torchlight danced upon the highly polished blades slick with the deadliest of poisons.

Amon Ra turned its throne to grace her with its forbidding, imperious presence.

She crossed her weapons before her, a savage grin across the lower half of her face.

_126th._


	3. Third Record

Records

by Aizhen Aschenhimmel

As flat as a hamerfalled disclaimer could be: I own not RO.

A/N: Big thanks to all who reviewed :3! That keeps engines going :) Anyways, this one is once again inspired by an in-game character.

_Third Record_

_Record Breaker_

He was the type of person you wouldn't take seriously.

Well, I didn't. At first.

For starters, he was a 'foreigner' - just a new guy, maybe a wandering soul who stumbled in our territory. And to contrast horribly with the grim atmosphere of the Pyramids, he was as loudmouthed and raucous as a wild man could be. You could hear his voice two walls away, swearing at arclouses, cursing mimics and shouting challenges at every passerby. And as if those weren't enough to terribly upset the status quo of the place, he's also _different_. Different because he wields an axe while the rest of the place's regulars use katars. In other words, he was a blacksmith in the traditional territory of the assassins - an egoistic boy whose scandalous voice could wake up the undead and whose muscle is enough to send them back to the grave in a few quick thrusts of his axe.

Who was he? Nobody knows. For us he was just a white-haired blacksmith whose youthful face was perpetually marked with a smug grin - a passing visitor, a frivolous boy, sometimes a source of entertainment. Though he stirred up quite a lot of interesting scenarios, I never took keen interest upon him. I didn't take up his threats and claims seriously. Who would? He was just a boy.

But he was _different_.

"That's my fifth for the week! Alright, so who's boss?"

I would've given a huff, turn back and leave, but I knew it to be true.

"And that's my fifty-first all in all! Yeah baby!"

I had seen it with my eyes.

"Heh, just fifty-odd more. Just a little more, and I can rub this in their face. Ha!"

All of us could only stare in awe, whisper to each other in disbelief and watch as that naive grin get wider, the torchlight reflected upon a surprisingly perfect row of teeth.

"You saw _that_? Amon Ra in less than five minutes?"

"Impossible..."

"He's a monster!"

Who would've thought? I never knew. We never knew. We were ignorant. And maybe a little foolish too. Who are we to judge?

Strength is intangible.

"Hey hot stuff, that's _my _Amon Ra! Back off!"

He was a boy. But he was different.


	4. Fourth Record

Records

by Aizhen Aschenhimmel

As flat as a hamerfalled disclaimer could be: I own not RO.

Dedication: To Tela, who always read what I write :3 A very big thanks to you :)

_Fourth Record_

_Coffee_

That has to be it.

It has to be the coffee.

It was a hot espresso just before Pyramids visit.

It has nothing to do with the pain that he so dearly wished would numb him instead of making him severely aware of the life dripping away from him. It's a drop-by-drop cessation of the blood, making it pool beneath him and snake away in fluid trails that went over the edge of the catwalk. And he could see it. In the torchlight the liquid glistened like a jewel, but in the darkness it's nothing more but a thicker, tangible shadow creeping into every direction-

Nicolaus stopped. And the pain became more acute than ever. Ah damn it.

Hell, I'm dying. I should be thinking of somber stuff and not stupid things like these. I should be numb and feeling pathetic by now. I should be suspended between consciousness and unconsciousness, lamenting over the past or something of that pathetic crap. Cathaline always tells me that kind of stuff, something from those romance books, when the dashing hero dies and there's a melodramatic part that goes with his death scene. The hell - that's just so weak. Azariel says so too, and Ehren's just too nice to say the same.

And he thinks the same too, really, but it's Cathaline. Say the worse to everyone but her.

The knight had to smile at that one, in spite of the biting pangs that went up and down his battered body. Yup, it's stupid. And he's just a step worse. I hate the pain, then I went here and Amon Ra kicked my ass big time. The guy whacked me hard then left me for dead. Stupid. And pathetic too. Then I lie here dying and think about people who, if I'm that lucky, are waiting for me on the other side.

Here goes my drama. As though I can't get enough of it.

So what if his last thoughts were stupid. At least they take his mind off the pain. And that's what he's after anyway. There's no need for comfort. There's no comfort in this sorry place filled with darkness and glaring firelight. It's just to forget. And maybe the end of it all too.

Odin. It hurts so much. These thoughts aren't enough. The blood isn't dripping fast enough. This physical pain isn't enough.

Damn that coffee.

It's the coffee. If he hadn't drunk it, if he hadn't remembered...well, maybe he's a little better off. There's no need to feel the pain anymore. Amon Ra whacks and, bam, I'm dead. It's one fast ticket to heaven or hell or whatever place lies beyond here.

Who knows, maybe they're preparing a welcome party. Imagine Azariel being festive.

And he laughed. He just can't help it. It was a laugh, that broken, gravelly sound issuing from his blood-clotted throat. And he was laughing so hard that his body shook in spite of the pain; so hard that tears came to his eyes.

Yep, that has to be it.

The utter stupidity of it all.

It's the coffee, that bitter sadness that keeps you awake.

A/N: The original Fourth Record is much more shallow and sillier. Maybe I'll post it later. Anyways, I think this story is kind of sad and pure angst. Reviews are much welcome.


	5. Fifth Record

Records

by Aizhen Aschenhimmel

As flat as a hamerfalled disclaimer could be: I own not RO.

A/N: Thank you for all those who are reviewing and keeping up with me so far :) I swear you guys are helping me a lot :) So this is for you people. Let's get it on!

_Fifth Record_

_Child_

This is not a children's playground.

I can name other places that are as dangerous, probably even more. But the point is, this is not a place for children. Monsters are not playmates, nor are they toys. They are simply...monsters. Ought to be killed. Ought to be taken care of by the adults.

Killing them is not child's play.

I called him, in my mind, as 'The Child'. Probably I was only a few years older than him, or maybe not. Looks can be deceiving, after all. But there was no doubt that he was just a child, most probably not older than thirteen. A child with long brown hair covering the right half of his face, his eyes bright green, reed-thin and somber. A child with infiltrator katars. A child assassin.

I thought I was the youngest here. Apparently I was mistaken. But people at my age are already adventurers. We can leave our homes, go anywhere and not elicit stares. I am not a child anymore. Or I consider myself not to be one, and nobody sees me as one either.

I wonder what other people must've thought with The Child. He wanders through the hallways alone, his steps firm and quick, his still-round face frigidly serious. He slices through the undead with the same cold efficiency as that of a grown-up assassin. I've seen him do it. His face was apathetic and his eyes perfectly impassive. It made me think whether he was truly a child, or an adult in the form of one.

The Child. What were his thoughts as he diced an ancient mummy, hacked through the decayed innards of a verit, fought Amon Ra? His proficiency with his weapon told of his long training with them. His parents, who are they? Did he ever had other toys, friends? Only his shadow looked the same as any of us.

Is he truly a child?

Questions should have answers.

"Why...are you here?"

And I found one. In those green irises, cold yet stark naive, the penetrating, bold look of innocence-

"I'm playing."

A/N: Inspiration came from those baby assassins, especially the one that hung out in the Amon Ra map


	6. Sixth Record

Records

by Aizhen Aschenhimmel

As flat as a hamerfalled disclaimer could be: I own not RO.

A/N: To RicePaper :) Thank you so much for the encouraging reviews!

_Sixth Record_

_Smiles_

I had known him since we were little.

That was why when I decided to pay the pyramids a visit, I brought him along.

I always do. Wherever I go, wherever dungeon or city, I bring him along. And he will wordlessly nod his affirmation in his lackadaisical, serene manner. He is always that way - quiet, somber, detached from the world. A solemn-looking alchemist, looking both young and old at the same time. Hardly an energetic companion at all. But I'm always with him. Or rather, I always want him to be with me.

There was seldom a moment we weren't together.

I thought I was the only one who'll grow attached to those ancient walls glowing crimson in the torchlight, the statues worn by age and the filthy multitude of ancient mummies, verits and arclouses. It wasn't the most pleasant of places, his tastes differ from mine; I supposed that he was the last person to request a return. But he did. To my surprise, he did.

It got me thinking for a brief moment. Only for a second. Maybe I should've given more thought about it, considered the question 'why' more deeply, but I was happy. For once I wasn't the one asking. I felt I was more important than just a companion, more than a knight who takes care of the ancient mummies when they get too many.

There was acknowledgment.

We returned. And we came back after that second visit. Then a third time, the fourth...

Then slowly, inevitably it became all too obvious.

"Hey, you two are back!"

_She_ is there, once again, like the previous visits. Beautiful and flawless in spite of the grisly creatures around her, the grim darkness. She seems not to belong in this place yet it seemed oddly right she was here - her exuberance was travesty to the gloom, her skill with the katar earned her the right to belong. Her smile is radiant, illuminating.

The pale blue of his eyes appears brighter, infused with subtle brilliance, when he looks at her. Brilliance I had never seen before.

"Yes." He is smiling. He is smiling at her. "We're back."

Were those - that look, that smile - ever bestowed upon me? No. _Never._

"Hm...seems like you're getting hooked in hunting Amon Ra."

The man besides me is a stranger.

Where is he, the timid boy, the quiet merchant, the dispassionate alchemist?

_Lost in the beautiful glimmer of that woman's smile._

Where was my companion?

_He was never yours._

The shadows hid the bitterness of my smile, where it would never emerge.

"No. That's not it."

_It is you, as usual..._

A/N: Sad, sad story.


	7. Seventh Record

Records

by Aizhen Aschenhimmel

As flat as a hamerfalled disclaimer could be: I own not RO.

_Seventh Record_

_Patience_

"Do not follow me. Just wait for me back in town, okay? It's going to be a quick one."

4:00 PM

She sought cover against the merciless sun beneath the portico, wiping beads of sweat upon her forehead with the back of her hand. She disliked the heat, but staying at the town was becoming dull. Besides she had told Nicolaus that she was going out for a walk.

Here at the Pyramids, it wasn't only the natives. People from all corners of Rune-Midgard gathered, and the bustle reminded her of Prontera and Geffen. There was a pinch of nostalgia for white walls and the famous tower, but she quickly shook it off.

He entered sometime during ten o'clock. He had been gone for more or less six hours. Quick one, huh? He promised her a tour around the city by two.

Liar.

5:00 PM

Maybe she should've convinced Nicolaus to accompany him. But then, it would mean ruining Cathaline's date with the knight. No, that would not be pleasant...

At a distance Morocc glowed in the brilliant light of the setting sun. The shadows slowly blanketed the sloping walls of the Pyramids. One by one the merchants plying their wares near the entrance disappeared, and the people entering the place lessened.

Perhaps he had gone overboard killing the ancient mummies. Sometimes that assassin is a little too excited for his own good. Yes, that has to be it. Well, he'd better be excited with the Heaven's Drive she will welcome him with.

6:00 PM

It was already dark, but fortunately there were torches around to illuminate the darkness. It was eerie, this cool desert stillness, and maybe more fearful than the dark streets of Prontera or Geffen.

Only a few persons were left, mostly the serious adventurers and inquisitive scholars, and she was one of them. Her legs already ached from standing, and although the sand irritated her skin, she opted to sit down.

She thought she felt hungry. Lunch was hours ago. And he hasn't eaten lunch yet. At least he ate breakfast, but that was what, ten hours ago?

There was nothing of interest now. Nothing else was left but to wait. And it was killing her.

7:00 PM

Forget about the grumbles of the digestive system.

Just now a couple of priests exited with a bloody sniper in tow. Odin, he looked dead.

A wizard quickly came up to them, almost to the point of tears, and her words were nothing but a slush of syllables.

Two words came from the priests.

Amon Ra.

She watched them leave towards the direction of the city.

Cold dread gripped her. He couldn't be possibly _that _stupid, taking on Amon Ra all by himself, right?

8:00 PM

Screw warnings. I'm entering.

The sage stood up, taking a second to pat away the sand particles that had clung to her skin and clothes. She had only been in the Pyramids once, and truth be told she doesn't remember the route very well. Amendment: she doesn't really remember much at all. Given the fact that she has a very bad sense of direction and that gloomy, torch-lit darkness in front of her...she shook her head. Know or not, she cannot bear to wait there forever.

Hell, she waited for four hours. Four hours of killing patience. She nearly got sunburnt and had sand in places where the sun doesn't shine. And if she ever sees him, she will slap him. No, she will freeze his ass with Frost Diver and blast it with Thunderstorm. Serves him right for breaking his promise, making her wait and making her worry-

Footsteps.

"Why are you...here."

She saw him emerge from the darkness, looking worse for wear but still walking through sheer willpower.

"Didn't I...told you...to wait?"

I waited. I waited, you miserable fool. I waited for you.

But I was worried! Worried so much I'd become stupid myself.

"I did, you miserable, selfish idiot!"

Then she threw her arms around his neck.

A/N: Hmmm:)


	8. Eighth Record

Records

by Aizhen Aschenhimmel

As flat as a hamerfalled disclaimer could be: I own not RO.

_Eighth Record_

_Humanity_

He sat there, on that desolate spot, at that vantage point where a throne could've been highly fitting, with his sword was across his lap and his shield leaning on the wall besides him. Firelight made his red eyes seemed fiercer, brighter and more frightening. The inner fire was enhanced by earthly fire. Anyone who beheld them involuntarily shies away, asking him or herself if a man could possibly have such terrible eyes, if a soul could possibly gaze from murderous blood-colored irises.

Everyone passed through that place without as much as glancing at him, and upon doing so hurries away in fright or discomfort - whichever you choose. He is capable of eliciting both to anyone.

They knew his name to be Azrael, and they say it with a whisper. Azrael...of the Darkhaven family? Byalan's Crimson Devil has come to Morocc? They said he killed so many that the waters of Byalan changed color. His sword was always drenched with the blood of monsters - monsters killed in a wild sword-hacking spree that always left the floor and walls painted with riotous splashes of blood. Follow the trail of dismembered mummies and pools of blood to find him. Yes, he killed monsters...but he killed them with a cold inhumanity that was beast-like. To everyone he was a monster himself.

Nobody wants to approach him. Who knows what he sees with those terrible eyes? He seems to discriminate between man and monster, but no one wants to take their chances with the Crimson Devil.

To this he wasn't oblivious. He knew that everyone in this place is averse with him. They fear him more than the monsters. To their eyes he is also a monster. But he doesn't care. He had been used to the cold treatment. Companionship was denied to him, thanks to his heavy, menacing aura and grisly reputation, and he doesn't go after it. No, he's better off alone. No hindrances, no worries.

Man is fearful of his own, blatant portrayal. To his own inhumanity he justifies; to the atrocity of others he is condemning. Isn't it inhumanity as well, to be judgmental? To the majority he is not human; but to the few that braved through their aversion, they discovered the person underneath the cold exterior.

No matter. He does not care.

"Just a few more minutes."

A pair of bright red eyes left the narrow platform in front of him and gazed at the pink blob beside him. It looked up with naive, dot-like eyes.

The gaze that sent people running was ineffective on a simple poring.

"We'll get out as soon as we bring down Amon, alright? Then we'd get some apple juice."

The creature smiled and nodded. "Sure, no problem there."

With one metal-covered finger he poked at the soft, bouncy body. "Good. Just don't tell your mistress Kath I've been bringing you to dangerous places again, because she's going to shove a deadly poison down my throat."

Hardly a companion at all, but it was all he got. Not that he complains though.

"Eh, I won't do that. Don't worry, Boss Lord Knight."

Maybe these creatures are simple enough not to know fear. Or perhaps that there are times when monsters are more humane than man? Perhaps they have hearts, souls...

"Heh. You're one good blob there."

Humanity isn't exclusive.

"'Course. You're one hell of a master, iss'alright."

Perhaps this poring could see the soul behind the blood-tinted eyes.

A/N: Ummm...ahhh:) Reviews and ConCrit? Thanks :3


	9. Ninth Record

Records

by Aizhen Aschenhimmel

As flat as a hamerfalled disclaimer could be: I own not RO.

A/N: We already have enough one-shots related to the Pyramids of Morocc...let's get outta here, then! This time we're going to that famous place...I know that you know this area :)

_Ninth Record_

_Clean-Up Party_

It was, undoubtedly, a pleasant day - a sky so perfectly blue, a bright sun shining upon the Capital's towering white walls and a gentle breeze blowing across the lush fields. It was so beautiful that nothing could seem go wrong, and that it would be a waste to let such a day pass idly. Yes, it would be an excellent day for some kind of activity.

For two certain Rune-Midgardian adventurers, a good amusement would be going to Byalan Island. However, to reach Byalan Island, they had to go to Izlude. And to reach Izlude, they must walk across the field between Prontera and Izlude. And to walk in the said field, they have to pass through a happy riot right in front of Prontera's gates.

Jet dumbly stared at the huge collection of ungoliants, zombies of all classifications, kobolds and goblins of all ranks, orcs, mermen, different colored ants, owl barons, teddy bears, sohees, grizzlies and what other monster from what other part of Rune-Midgard. In the middle of the monster crush were a dozen lord knights, paladins, high wizards, champions and cross assassins who seemed to be reenacting a valiant scene from the First Ragnarok. Shiny pointed things glinted in the brilliant Pronteran sun, bolts and spells of all schools of magic electrified the air and unconscious bodies - dead or otherwise - carpeted the grass. From afar he could discern the screaming and retreating figures of novices running towards the Sograt desert with drainliars snapping their fangs at them.

His peace-loving side jarred by the scenes of chaos, he turned at his companion, who was now riding astride a metal-plated pecopeco. "Devon, you sure we have to pass through this?"

The lord knight yawned. He wobbled slightly from side to side, and only a timely action of his hips prevented him from falling over his peco. He was still a little groggy - last night's drinking party was a real blast. Ace knew his beer houses very well. "It's just a dead branch party gone horribly, horribly wrong."

_A massacre more like it_, the high priest thought in terror. And it just seemed like nothing could ever go wrong with a sun shining so brilliantly and the winds so pleasant. Blast the notions of idyllic days. "Maybe we'll wait for later?"

Devon gave him a look. "And why's that?" With one careless wave of his spear he sent a ghoul flying into a dismembered heap. "Katharine's waiting for us in Byalan."

"But how will we-" Turn Undead. "-manage to get through-" Sanctuary. "-this one hell of a-" Resurrection. "-monster mess?" Magnus Exorcismus. "Man, they haven't lessened a bit!"

The red-haired lord knight's grin was tinted with slight mockery. He was holding both spear and shield now. "Hey, you going to chicken this out, Jet?"

The high priest returned the expression with a dark look. He had the inkling of what most probably will happen. Ohhh boy, this ain't good. "Charging into this disaster is either heroism or utter stupidity."

Devon's smile widened into a crazy, near-psychotic grin. The dazzling sunlight struck his red hair and seemed to accentuate his mood. Jet shuddered - he knew _that _look. And it doesn't fare well. "Let me show you what kind of heroic nobility _pure strength _is capable of." With that he kicked his peco's side and charged into the motley monster crowd, spear twirling in the air and shield ready for the onslaught, with a cloud of dust trailing behind him. It choked the brown-haired high priest before he could even cry out, "Stop! It's a massacre, I'm telling you!"

Too late. The first of the many and destructive Bowling Bash made an explosive debut with the wild rolling of humans and monsters upon contact with his spear. Most of the human warriors were knocked out cold. While Jet thought it was for the better, he couldn't help but cringe at the sight.

"Devs, cut that out!"

The second Bowling Bash annihilated about a quarter of the monster population. Jet thought he heard a poring got caught in the blast and was squished to death. Oh poor thing.

"Alright pure strength, that's enough!"

The third Bowling Bash mowed half of their number. Blood and innards splattered wildly around, and a few even found their way to Jet's face. The priest was so shocked that he didn't have the delicacy to even say 'Gross'.

"Look man, I can't perform a Resurrection spell on them all!"

The fourth Bowling Bash destroyed the rest of them. Maya Purple finally toppled down into a lifeless pile of insect limbs and gold ornaments.

Jet groaned. The field before him was covered with warriors knocked senseless beneath a disgusting layer of monster remains. He couldn't see a single blade of grass. Add to that the sun was shining; the sky was innocently blue, the wind gentle and caressing...Odin, what a travesty. Not even the Somatalogy Lab could boast this. Feeling charitable and the need for compensation, he decided to at least cast a Sanctuary spell for the poor innocent souls caught in the happy disaster that is Devon.

"Should I say 'wow so strong' or should I say 'Odin, what the hell'?"

A rather bloodied and battered Devon grinned with pleasure. He looked a little worse for wear, but he still managed to sit upright his feathered steed and his grip was still strong and sure. It takes more than that mediocre crowd to take down Lord Knight Devon, the Scarlet Death of the Pyramids. "Both, if you like. And don't bother to try a Resurrection spell with them - they'd come to sooner or later. I didn't go berserk, mind you. I controlled my strength."

Jet shot him an incredulous look. "There was _control_ in the reckless swinging of that spear of yours?!"

The lord knight smiled brightly. "Yes!"

For the second time in fifteen seconds the healer groaned. Other than the unbelievable strength, there's also the unbelievable attitude. It wasn't berserker mode at the rate. He hated to think what kind of war zone it would be if he'd taken the whole crowd seriously. "You should be with Seyren Windsor and Howard Alteisen. You people will get along pretty well. Or with Thanatos, I'm sure."

"I'd mash them up someday, don't worry," Devon said pleasantly. The exercise raised his spirits and fully woke him up. There's no better warm-up than a good Bowling Bashing. "But that's for later! We've got to meet Kath now. It's a good day and it would be a waste to let it pass without doing anything worthwhile."

Hell.

"What's with you, Jet? Let's go! Kath's going to lash out a Soul Destroyer on us if we take too long."

A sleepy lord knight, almost falling off his peco, comes out of Prontera and lays complete waste in a crowd of humans and monsters. He claims not to have killed any human life in the whole course of swinging his weapon around - he still has control of that immense strength that verges on inhuman.

"Alright, coming."

That's pure strength for you. And it was just so weird, so unusual it was bordering on unthinkable and yet so true, that he could only laugh. Scarlet Death. He was human, sure. Only his strength wasn't one. But that doesn't really matter much, does it?

"Hey Devs, you think they'd clean up your mess?"

"I guess so...who cares anyway? There's always a dead poring there and it's always gone after an hour."

A/N: Whish:3 I know Azrael and Devon are almost the same - redhead knights with the titles 'Crimson Devil' and 'Scarlet Death' respectively. But they have different personalities :3


	10. Tenth Record

Records

by Aizhen Aschenhimmel

A/N: Tenth...and how many months since my last update? Sorry about that! For all of those who took the time to read the stories and even left a review or two, a very big thanks to all of you! Your reviews help extend my lifespan :) Alright-o, on with the show!

_Tenth Record_

_Claimed_

"You're different."

_Of course I am, _he thought with a mental eye-roll. He sat down on a gloomy piece of wrought iron which was apparently a bench, arms folded and legs crossed. "Would you rather have me as an angst-ridden, groaning ghost?"

She smiled awkwardly. "Well, not really...but I'm surprised that you're different from the rest of..._them_." She sat down near him, vivid and alive, so unlike his grayish, semi-transparent self. He was sure that if they'll touch, they'll both feel nothing. "Care explaining?"

He shrugged, looking away. Well, how to say it? How to begin? Explaining it through and through - and he was sure she will make him explain it through and through - would make him confess things not even death made him comfortable of saying.

_My one lifeline to sanity. You. The fact that you're not here with me to share this damnable existence as a resident of Nifleheim is enough relief to cover my sheer boredom. My annoying memories of you overcome any angst-filled regrets. I met you in my all-too-brief life and I'm pathetically content with it._

Besides, they sounded awfully _unlike _him.

"Why are you here anyway?" He grumbled, wanting to get rid of her as soon as possible. It was for the best. Nifleheim killed him; it will kill her too, sooner or later.

She looked indignant that he even asked. "For you, obviously. I came to see you." She studied him for a moment, red eyes narrowing. "And you're not happy that I'm here. I can see that."

He was unhappy even before she came. He was dead, he had accepted it, and he didn't like it. Who wouldn't? Nifleheim was a dreary place of gray skies and crooked architecture. Nifleheim was a gaggle of ghosts and hanging bridges that swayed over chasms that promised no bottom. Nifleheim wasn't _her._ _Alright, stop._ He died without any long rambling monologues for last thoughts, and he didn't want to start one now.

_I'm not going to be selfish, _he said to her, in his mind, where she wouldn't hear. "Khallian, my dear guild leader, I'm not happy you've become suicidal. Get out of here before the Lord of Death makes a barbecue out of you," he said aloud. "Or before you slip and fall from a cliff the way I did." Mentioning or even recalling his not-so-heroic death was a bit of a pain for him (especially for his pride), not that a three-hundred-feet plunge to the darkness wasn't a big amount of suffering. Making her go away was a pain too, but he tried not to dwell much on that (because the pain of dying was in the past, and won't grow worse, unlike the _other _pain).

"Saldy, I'm not _that _stupid to fall off a cliff," she said stubbornly, and his pride was whittled down to powder. "Besides, if I can walk in here, I can walk out again."

He snorted.

"Not that I liked going here anyway," she griped, more to herself. "They all said I was crazy, guild master or no. Your death's warning enough for us not to mess around with Nifleheim. Bunch of sissies. _Heartless _sissies. That's a very unkind way to view a guild mate's death."

"They're right," he answered casually, still not looking at her. It hurt a bit, but they were right, and he didn't want her to see the emotions he had denied so much when he was still alive. "You are crazy. Ever have something called self-preservation instinct? And I'm not _Saldy._" _Go away. Let me mope in peace. Get a husband, have kids and pretend I'm happy for your sake because I won't be happy, I'll have waking nightmares of things that should've been if I haven't died so pathetically, and I'm not asking anyone to forgive me for being so bitter because this is the truth._

Stupid monologues. But it was the most selfish and honest thing he had ever admitted to himself. The sheer honesty of it butchered him inside.

"Will you ever learn to respect your guild master, _Saldaren?_" She complained over the low murmurs of the dead. "Especially when I went all the trouble just to see you again." She trailed off, suddenly losing her forcefulness. They fell silent.

"I didn't ask you to."

"I don't need your permission on that. I _am _your guild master. If I say I want to see you, I will see you."

"I'm dead."

Silence. The ghosts, the ones Claimed by Death, milled around them, oblivious, a sea of gray and overlapping semi-transparent bodies, moaning and groaning of past regrets.

"I just wanted to see you," she repeated dully, staring across the ghost-filled plaza, staring at a broken, stilted lamppost and not really seeing it. "Because you're not really gone if I can see you again, right?"

He kept silent.

"You know me," she went on tonelessly. "I hate losing. Losing stuff, losing battles, losing people..."

"There are hundreds of assassins out there," he offered, mustering enough courage to finally look at her. _Stop it. Don't make it more difficult. What you're saying isn't true and you know it. _"You can find a replacement for me soon enough. I'm not that special."

She turned to him as she extended a hand towards his chest, where a heart should've been. Her fingers simply went through him, as it should.

She smiled a bittersweet smile that ripped the heart out of him. "I wished you weren't that special. I really did."

A/N: This was waaaay more angsty in its original drafts. I thought of lightening up a bit...or did I? All reviews would be cherished :3


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